Unicorn
by fictionalcandie
Summary: Relating the uncovering of Sirius's secret Muggle friend and the subsequent demise of his Reputation. [Oneshot, implied slash.]


**Disclaimer:** The characters belong to JKR and the location belongs to, um, the Queen? The only part of this I own is Ned. Hehe.

**Warnings:** Alcohol consumption (legal), language, implied slash (romantic/physical relationship of a homosexual nature). If any of these things offend you, please remember that you have been warned.

**Author's Notes:** Written at the last moment (between 5-8am) for a friend's birthday. All mistakes are, of course, the fault of my having stayed up all night, haha.

Don't forget to review!

**o.o.o.o**

Sirius was lazily trundling his way down a quiet back street of some minor little down in Southern England -- quite as comfortingly far away from Scotland and James and Lily and Hogwarts as he could convince himself to get -- with his hands on the steering apparatus of his recently purchased motorbike, providing one half of the force required to move it, as its engine had apparently failed again. Nasty inconvenience, all this having to buy _petrol_ for things. Utterly Muggle of the Muggles.

Of course, the personage providing the other half of the un-horse power at the moment was most definitely a very Muggle-ish Muggle, so Sirius wasn't inclined to be too harsh on the poor sods. Even if they _did_ have terrible taste in locomotion, his beloved bike not withstanding. (He was working out how to make it run on rock music, anyway, so it wasn't as if the petrol business signified, to begin with.)

'This thing bloody well weighs a bloody lot,' muttered a distinctly masculine, slightly winded voice from just behind Sirius's right shoulder.

Feeling sympathetic, Sirius shot a smile over his leather jacket at the importuned owner of that voice. 'Not my fault, you know,' he retorted cheerfully, his own voice a touch more breathless than his fellow's. 'Not like I designed the bloody thing, or anything.'

_Well, not yet, anyway,_ Sirius mentally added to himself. He did, after all, have plans to rework the entire power system, and a few to streamline the hulking beast, and one to make it fly all on its own, and at least a dozen for how to make the seat more comfortable. And _larger_, definitely, as for some reason the padded area seemed designed for only one inhabitant, the disagreeable thing, and that occupant one of significantly smaller size than Sirius himself. (Things tended to be significantly smaller than Sirius, though; he'd almost accepted it, except that most of his male friends tended toward similar stature.) But James had refused pointblank to even consider going out for a spin on it until Sirius changed some things, so he just couldn't help it.

The man presently at Sirius's shoulder was laughing, and from the strain on Sirius's elbows, had stopped pushing his share of the motorbike. A quick glance confirmed his suspicion, and Sirius too stopped walking. They were only a short way from his lane, it was really just at the end of this back street, so they could take a wee break. He sent his companion a grin.

'Sod you, and sod this great machine as well,' said the Muggle conversationally, proceeding to lean his bare forearms on the leather seat and rest his considerable, muscular weight on them. 'Why the devil did you buy the thing, Simon?'

It took Sirius a second or so to remember that because he truly detested his name his few Muggle friends knew him as Simon. Except, actually, _this_ one, who he'd told the truth to -- well, besides the part about being a wizard -- in a moment of noble and irredeemable honesty brought on by over half a bottle of good old-fashioned Russian vodka. (Imported, even; his friend had sprung for it, to celebrate finally reaching his birthday and thus the subsequent end of being just nineteen years old.) So he narrowed his eyes, and instead of answering his friend's question, demanded a bit suspiciously, 'Why do you look as if you're plotting something, Ned?'

'I don't!' protested the Muggle indignantly, trying to look innocent and affronted, but only managing guilty. So Sirius narrowed his eyes further and raised one arrogant eyebrow eloquently. Ned laughed. 'I don't! Do I?'

Sirius nodded confidently. He was, after all, the master of detecting plotting looks, in both his circles of friends. He didn't say anything, and Ned volunteered nothing, so there was relative silence in the alley. Ned looked at his forearms, and Sirius looked expectantly at the curly brown hair on the top of Ned's head. Finally, Sirius cleared his throat pointedly, and Ned looked up, his blue eyes bright and inquisitive.

'Yes?' prompted Sirius, his eyebrow still raised just so, only now he had his arms crossed over his chest and was languidly propping his back against the handlebars of his bike.

'It's just, some of us were wondering, Simon,' Ned began earnestly, still using that name he knew wasn't true, leaning just a little more toward Sirius, his large hands spread over black leather, 'where do you _go_?'

Sirius blinked several times, clearly startled. 'Where do I go?' he repeated, in obvious bewilderment. Clearly, he had misheard.

But Ned was nodding eagerly. 'Yes. All the time. It's not with us, and it's not at your flat, and we know you haven't got yourself a gel 'cause you would have told us, and you'd be taking your bike with you more often. And really, it's a bloody _enormous_ amount of time.'

Sirius laughed then, of course he couldn't help himself, because it was just so absurd. 'I must admit,' he declared blithely, as he gave another great bark of laughter and Ned took his turn at looking flummoxed, 'that when I saw that sly gleam in your eyes I thought there was something quite a bit more... _serious_... about to happen.'

Ned stood up straight abruptly, startling Sirius a bit, and waved a hand as if to dismiss Sirius's attempt to hedge the question. A small crease had appeared in his forehead, a tiny line between his eyebrows. 'Right, right. But where do you _go_?'

'I...' began Sirius, and then stopped, frowning thoughtfully.

He wasn't quite sure how to explain, that he was up in Scotland paying court to James, and Lily, who were about to have a baby that was certain to be his godson, without explaining how he was _getting_ there without his bike, which would mean explaining magic and revealing that he was a wizard. Which was entirely out of the question. For starters, Ned and the Muggle boys would _never_ believe him.

He decided to settle for not mentioning where his almost-brother and almost-sister-in-law lived, and then swiftly changing the subject to which buxom serving girl Ned was after this month. He opened his mouth to do so, even got as far as 'Well, you see, I'm with--'

But a sudden, loud, familiar, and _very_ drunken yell echoed down the alley, stopping Sirius's obviously reluctant explanation right in its tracks. His eyes widened and he stood up straight, and Ned cast him a startled look, because the very male voice was quite clearly calling for 'Sirius!' And Sirius had done a thorough job of convincing Ned that no-one else knew his real name.

'Siriuuuuuus!' The yell came again, this time sounding rather petulant.

'Fuck,' muttered Sirius, just as a figure appeared in the mouth of the alley, large bottle dangling from one long-fingered hand, glasses glinting in the faint light of the nearly full moon. Sirius could see the black hair sticking up at all angles, even from that distance.

'Sirius!' James crowed triumphantly, and then he was bounding drunkenly toward them, only he didn't seem to have noticed that Ned was there, watching with very wide eyes indeed.

'James,' Sirius greeted resignedly. 'What are you doing he--' But James had reached the pair by the motorbike, slinging the arm unburdened by a whiskey bottle around Sirius, and neatly stopping his forward momentum by burying his face soundly in Sirius's neck. Sirius wanted to roll his eyes but was certain that James would notice it, somehow. On the other hand, Ned's eyes, already abnormally large, had nearly popped right out of his head.

There was an alarming sinking feeling in the pit of Sirius's stomach.

'James, you're drooling on me,' he said, sounding a bit more cross than he normally did when a wasted James felt the need to use him as solid and rather convenient leaning post.

James giggled.

Ned's eyebrows flew up.

Sirius felt as if a little bit of his reputation had slipped somewhere that was not remotely in his proximity. He looked down at the man who had slid down a little and was hiding in his chest, and _firmly_ rolled his eyes to himself.

'James,' he ground out, forcing himself not to look at Ned. Then, when that had no effect, he repeated himself, imbuing the word with as much embarrassed command as he possibly could. '_James_.'

This time, James looked up, but his eyes were half closed, and his face was quite close to Sirius's, and he promptly smiled widely. And because he was obviously drunk completely out of his mind (and into Sirius's, as Lily liked to say), his gaze was fixed on Sirius's mouth, because he hadn't the energy to raise it any higher, but _Ned_ didn't know that. Sirius felt his cheeks heating, for some reason, even though he knew it wasn't helping the situation.

'What?' asked James innocently. He didn't wait for a reply, apparently thinking was completely unnecessary. Instead, he drew his eyebrows together, and in a truly aggrieved voice declared, 'You weren't at your flat.'

A pause, probably intended by James to punctuate his statement, which it did with rather too much success. He added, 'I checked.'

'I know I wasn't at my flat,' Sirius managed, wishing he sounded a bit less flustered and a bit more annoyed. Ned was being far too quiet, standing on the other side of the motorbike and watching the proceedings avidly. Sirius wished the other man would say something already.

'Why not?' James was inquiring, managing finally stand a bit more under his own power.

Sirius answered sensibly, 'I was out.' He glanced at Ned quickly, for the first time since James had thrown himself on him. And then the back of his neck burned, because damned if that glance hadn't both felt and looked _guilty_.

Ned's mouth had fallen open just a fraction.

'Out where?' protested James, lurching fully to his feet and staring at Sirius with incredulous indignation. His arms waved wildly for a moment. 'You only go out with _me_.'

Sirius wished fervently that James would stop emphasising things so peculiarly, but as it was James, he knew it was a vain wish. Instead of voicing anything of the kind, he gave a long suffering sigh, and said, 'You're about to brain me with that bottle, James, give over.' He held out his hand, and when James didn't seem to be moving quickly enough on his own, snatched it out of his hand.

He could do with some alcohol, just at the moment.

Especially as James had started to glare at him rather crossly, in the wounded way he had perfected at the age of fourteen. It was like a completely nonverbal guilt trip. Complete with thorn bushes, detours and land mines.

Ned chose that moment to venture, a bit hesitantly (and Sirius didn't really blame the poor bloke), 'Sirius, mate... who is this?'

'James,' Sirius replied hurriedly, or it might have been a warning, because James had immediately spun around at the unfamiliar voice talking to his Sirius with such familiarity. And he was glaring again. Worse, as far as Sirius was concerned, he seemed horrified to discover that the speaker was a horribly attractive young male, with his hands resting comfortably and _familiarly_ on Sirius's motorbike.

Sirius didn't let James touch his motorbike, not after James had been so scornful of it the first time it had been presented to him.

James's glare turned into a glower.

He was even better at that than glaring. Especially when he was fall-down drunk. Sirius should know.

'Who are _you_?' James demanded of Ned, suspicion and hostility rampant in his voice. And, oh God, blatant jealousy, as well.

'I'm-- I'm Ned,' stammered the man in question, his jaw hanging almost comically. His focus kept darting between James and Sirius as if he just couldn't make out what was happening in front of him.

James looked entirely unmoved, which was probably remarkable since, from the alcohol level in the clearly new bottle of what Sirius knew to be Firewhiskey, James had absolutely no decent excuse to be still standing. 'Who?'

'Ned, Sim-- Sirius's friend.' Ned was starting to look faintly amused, and his initial stammer had disappeared entirely.

James huffed loudly. 'Never heard of you,' he announced, as if that were a terrible insult beyond anything from which the Muggle could even hope to recover.

Sirius nearly smacked James for hammering nails so enthusiastically into his social coffin. He settled for prodding him roughly in the back with a closed fist, and when James didn't seem to notice, hissing pointedly, '_James_.'

Ned's eyebrows rose, and he looked startled. Then a wicked gleam appeared in his eyes. 'Sirius never mentioned me?' he asked, with apparent innocence. 'Can't think why not.'

Then, stupefyingly, he smiled suggestively.

Sirius glared at him and took a huge swallow of Firewhiskey.

James had stiffened. And turned around, which comforted Sirius slightly, because if James'd truly felt threatened in any way by Ned, he wouldn't have exposed his back like that. At least, it comforted him until he saw the look being leveled at him by the other wizard.

Sirius groaned.

James had an expression on his face which suggested that, underneath his inebriation, he was seething. His eyes flashed behind his glasses, and he snapped. 'Me ether. Ither. Other.' He frowned, thought for a moment, and then corrected himself, '_Either_.'

'I just don't know _why_ he wouldn't have mentioned me,' continued Ned blithely, looking for all the world as if he were truly enjoying himself now. He cast a wickedly significant glance at Sirius, which James was unfortunate enough to look back and catch, and said, 'We do so much together, you know.'

Sirius wondered if maybe he should give up having friends altogether. 'Actually, James,' he rushed to say, but James was looking increasingly furious, and increasingly about to fall over, so Sirius just gave up the conversation for the night. It showed on his face as he muttered angrily, 'Fuck.'

'You'd _better_ not,' snarled James, grabbing Sirius's collar roughly, and then proceeded to pass out and sprawl backwards onto Sirius's motorbike. His head was tipped back against the handlebars, exposing the pale column of his neck, and his torso, hips and arms were thrown across the rest of it. Unfortunately, he hadn't released Sirius's collar right away, and therefore pulled the sober man down on top of him.

Sirius, blushing furiously and feeling incredibly awkward, which was not a sensation he was used to, scrambled back upright as soon as he managed to untangle his shirt from James's disagreeably strong fingers. He looked at Ned, and coughed nervously.

For the moment, Ned seemed to be pretending that the scene had never taken place. He'd replaced his hands on the rear of the motorbike, neatly avoiding touching James as he did so, and appeared to be waiting for Sirius to resume his former position as well, that they might continue pushing the bike back to Sirius's flat.

Sirius heaved a sigh and did so quickly, after maneuvering the Firewhiskey bottle into his coat pocket and sliding James's head over to the middle of the handlebars. He sent a few uncomfortable, furtive glances down at the smooth, fair skin being exposed with James's chin tipped back like that, though he tried very hard not to. He swallowed, and hoped Ned hadn't noticed, because he certainly didn't need any encouragement.

They reached the door to Sirius's ground-floor flat quite quickly, and when they did Sirius paused, not sure exactly what he was supposed to do about his unconscious best friend, with his best (and until that night, secret) Muggle friend watching him in that assessing manner.

'You'd better take him inside,' Ned suggested eventually, in exactly the same tone he'd used to incense the currently slumbering man. 'You wouldn't _dare_ leave him out here.' He even opened Sirius's already unlocked front door helpfully.

Muttering unpleasant things under his breath in his mother's favorite language, Sirius grabbed James about the chest and clumsily heaved him up. Then, still swearing creatively in Latin, half-carried and half-dragged James well inside, where Ned couldn't possibly see them, and he quickly dropped him. Sirius pulled his wand from down his sleeve and levitated James into the bedroom, where he left him tossed across the enormous, extremely pillow-ridden bed. James didn't show a single sign of waking up any time in the immediate future.

'Wow,' murmured Ned, as Sirius came back out of his flat to say goodnight to his Muggle friend. He'd started to smirk at Sirius, which was slightly obnoxious and very, uncomfortably James-y of him. 'I had _no_ idea you sailed that ship, Simon.'

Sirius stared at Ned for several moments. He contemplated glowering. He contemplated simply informing Ned, frostily, that his assumptions were ridiculous. He contemplated explaining that he and James were both wizards, and James had simply been shocked because Sirius had never felt the need -- or had the guts -- to admit that he was friends with Muggles. He contemplated making a joke of it.

In the end he sighed wearily, cast a rueful look at the heavens, and said with unnerving calm, 'Night, Ned.'


End file.
